One so hoped nothing bad had happened.
They sat, very properly while Great-uncle had them all served tea, and they sat and sipped and listened to Great-uncle make small talk with Jase-aiji.
Then Great-uncle asked casually, “Are you finding everything you need, nephew?” to which the only possible answer was yes.
Then Great-uncle asked, “Do your guests understand what we say?”
“Only about food and clothes, Great-uncle, and the things in your collection. And mecheiti, Great-uncle.”
Great-uncle gave a little laugh, saying: “We hope they may need such words again, nephew.” That set Cajeiri’s heart to beating faster. Then Great-uncle immediately added, “but there are necessary gates to pass. You understand this.”
“Yes, Great-uncle, one does understand. Father sent me a list. I have been studying all the guests. Father will send me a speech to make. It will not be hard. I shall do everything without a mistake.”
“Wise lad,” Great-uncle said.
And that seemed the only point of Great-uncle’s having them there or talking to them at all, which seemed odd. Great-uncle left the apartment, going about his own grown-up business with Great-grandmother and the Conservatives, maybe down the hall in mani’s apartment.
But Jase-aiji stayed behind and explained the arrangements to Gene and Artur and Irene in some detail, telling them that they were to stay very close to him, that they were to bow and thank anyone who wished them well, and be patient with people who might just stand and stare at them. They had already understood that, for the most part, but they listened very solemnly, and agreed that they would be ready for Jase-aiji and his bodyguard to gather them up and escort them down to the festivity.
So it was all just preparation for the festivity, and it was going to happen, and Great-uncle had just called them in for Jase-aiji to meet with them and explain procedures to be absolutely sure his guests understood. That was good.
Cajeiri stood by and listened to the explanation, reminding himself of ship-speak words, learning a few new ones, and meanwhile he kept thinking—
He kept thinking Great-uncle had hinted that there might—there might be a hope of going back to Tirnamardi before his guests had to leave. He was not sure his guests had understood that. He was not sure he ought to tell them, if Jase-aiji failed to mention it, for fear it was only an idle remark and would not happen. Great-uncle’s hint was the sort of thing adults said when they were trying to get someone to behave—what was it his father had said to him?
Make them believe you might please them . . .
It was interesting how well that worked, even on him, even when it was clear as could be what the adults were doing to them.
He had to do everything well—to have even a chance of getting what he most wanted.
That was the way things always worked in politics.
· · ·
Sleep, granted a settled stomach and a sense that things were moderately under control, was actually possible—finally, for the whole rest of the afternoon. Bren surfaced from time to time, listened for any noise in the household that might signal a problem, and drifted again, face down. Jase had taken word on the Topari meeting down the hall to Lord Tatiseigi, head of that caucus, and also to the dowager, who needed to know, and thirdly to Tabini himself—keeping everyone abreast of the little problem which one hoped would not blossom into a big problem before Lord Tatiseigi could talk to several of his most level-headed associates. The Conservative Caucus was briefed about the taped record of the Kadagidi encounter. They would have the chance to view it; and they would form a recommendation on the situation in Ajuri and the situation in the Kadagidi lordship.
The dowager would call in some of the Liberal Caucus and do her own damage control—Dur, in particular, would have some constructive opinions on the Ajuri situation, being part of the local landscape, and in a neighboring association. The Liberals would by no means object: the Liberals would all but hold a celebration at the notion the Kadagidi were being taken to task.
The aiji-consort, meanwhile, was bound to have a personal opinion about the future of Ajuri clan. He’d warned Jase to tread particularly carefully during his visit to Tabini’s apartment, avoiding any contact with Damiri, and to be wary of any setup in the Festivity involving any contact of the children with Damiri. Damiri needed to be involved in planning the Festivity, and she was also well aware of the upheaval in her clan. That marriage had been under stress enough, and Damiri, who had a temper, did not do well with surprises. Whether the demise of Shishogi had made her situation easier or worse—had yet to be proved.
He shut his eyes. He slept the sleep of the moderately just.
And he waked finally with Narani’s gentle presence in the room, turning on the lights.
“Nandi. An invitation from the dowager, for brandy after dinner, or for dinner, if you find yourself in sufficient health for such an event. Jase-aiji and nand’ Tatiseigi are also invited.”
“One hears,” he murmured—there was time enough to get ready for a formal dinner, he was sure, or Narani would not have waked him; but there would not be all that much time, either, granted Narani would not have waked him any earlier than need be. He carefully levered himself up on his arms and put a foot over the edge of the mattress. Two feet—and he set himself upright very carefully.
The headache was indeed still there. More pills were in order.
Perhaps an appeal to Port Jackson for a gross of them.
“Banichi has waked,” Narani informed him, “and he says he is feeling better.”
“Is he following nand’ Siegi’s orders?”
“Somewhat, nandi.”
Somewhat. He drew in a deep breath, set his feet on the ground, and said, “Thank you, Rani-ji.”
He didn’t wait for his valets. He put on his robe and headed down the hall barefoot, straight for the security station, where, indeed, Banichi sat—in uniform, shirtless, but having a heavy uniform jacket draped about his shoulders. The arm was, yes, still taped, Bren noticed critically. But boots were on, hair was in its queue, and Banichi was sitting there upright.
“Is this approved, nadiin?” Bren asked.
“It seemed we would do more harm stopping him,” Tano said.
“Of the two of us,” Banichi said, looking at him, “I seem to be faring better at the moment.”
Barefoot, in his dressing robe, with his hair disheveled and with a brutal headache, Bren said, perhaps a bit shortly, “The dowager has invited me down the hall to dinner tonight. I shall need two attendants, amid all the others who will be present. One of them will not be you, Nichi-ji, and no amount of argument will convince me. You will not need your dress uniform.”
Banichi nodded graciously. And was amused.
“He believes, however,” Jago said, “that he will be in the escort at the young gentleman’s Festivity.”
“The young gentleman,” Banichi said, “would be disappointed otherwise.”
One entirely understood that point: the youngster had regarded Banichi as a second father, during the ship voyage—not to say Banichi had declined the attachment. Banichi would be sorely disappointed to be kept from that event.
“That will be a considerable time standing,” Bren said, not happily; and looked to the others. It could not be the first time a Guild member had been on duty while injured. “Is there a way he can sit down?”
“The service hall,” Algini said. “We can arrange a chair to be there . . . granted his sincere undertaking to use it from time to time.”
“You will use it,” Bren said to Banichi. “Are we agreed?”
“Two chairs,” Banichi said.
He and Banichi were, in fact, a matched set; and an available chair during three hours of standing about, in the case the room started to go around, sounded more than sensible.